I think of Grodd and shudder.
Unach shoves my shoulder and leads me to the end of the dock. For an awful second, I think she’s going to push me over, but she doesn’t, only points to the parts of the city we can see. She indicates a tunnel to the left. “That leads to the mines. East dock.” It appears to be the lowest part of the city. “Master armory. Water harvesting. We passed the tribunal, school, and infirmary on our way here. We’re on the southeast edge of Cagmar. You’ll want to get familiar with it as we move around, so you don’t get lost. If you stay with me”—she says it like it will be a chore—“you’ll always work this dock. Otherwise you’ll move to the east or west. How well can you climb?”
I haven’t had ample opportunity. None of the townships on my map are near the mountains. “Well enough,” I manage.
Unach sighs. “Troff, spot us.”
The troll readies himself as Unach secures separate ropes to herself and to me. She opens a closet on the wall, revealing a score of weapons, mostly heavy blades. Unach is already armed; she keeps her weapons in her apartment. But she selects a few blades for me and hands them over. I strap them on, following the style she and Troff use. While I’m not trained, I’ve used a knife to defend myself before.
“So we scout the monsters, and kill them?” I ask.
“If they get too close,” Troff answers, though he still looks at me with a confused expression. At least it’s not one of malice. “Alarms outside the city scare off most. Sometimes we just scare them away. Hunt the smaller ones.”
“For food?” I’ve eaten worse.
“Depends on the monster,” Unach answers. “Some are poisonous.” She steps toward the edge.
Troff adds, “We use their hides, their oil, some stuff for medicine. The large ones are too deadly to harvest.”
Unach waves for me to join her. My heart rises into my throat when I look into the depths of the canyon. Supposedly a river flows down there, but all I can see is endless black. My voice borders on a whisper when I ask, “How many are large?”
“Most of them,” Unach snaps before jumping over the ledge.
A gasp catches in my throat, but Unach has only dropped down to handholds bolted into the stone wall of the city. After ensuring that Troff is holding my rope, I carefully lower myself down after her. My arms strain, but I find footholds that bear most of my weight.
A cold wind rushes up, wet and smelling of mildew, as if the canyon itself breathes. Unach doesn’t mind, so I try not to. I’m slow to follow her. I’m suitably strong, but my attention flits everywhere at once, scanning the sides of the city, the canyon walls, the gorge’s depths. Looking for movement, for a shift in color, for anything. We climb, sidestep, climb, stopping occasionally at small, flat viewing stations carved out of rock. We pass by windows; Unach gives me little time to peer in, though the enormous drop below me mutes my curiosity.
My hand slips once, and I nearly let go. When I grasp the handhold again, I stay there for a long time, hugging the city like a long-lost lover.
“If you slip, you’ll fall, but Troff will pull you back in.” She gives me a narrow look before moving on. But in her eyes, I can almost read, Though it would be better if he didn’t.
Chapter 3
Fortunately, Unach and I found no monsters during the long four hours of our watch. Two were spent hugging the outside of the city, two in the dock, myself with a spyglass, Unach manning the ropes for Troff, as I don’t have the strength necessary to haul him up should his grip fail. He still regards me oddly when he gets back, like he’s waiting for Unach to give up the joke any moment now. I don’t blame him. I hardly look able to fight a beast of the depths. I do nothing to defend myself against the unspoken inquiries.
Unach opens the closet and gestures at me to return my weapons. “Never take them from the dock,” she says coolly. “Humans aren’t permitted to carry.”
I’m hanging up my last knife when three trolls come onto the dock, two women and a man, all laughing. I step closer to the closet to shield myself from notice.
“Unach!” The woman on the right punches her in the shoulder. “I thought you’d be here. We’re playing kow’tug in the rec and need another player.”
“I’ll play,” Troff volunteers.
The woman laughs. “We’d have better chances with a human.”
They all chuckle, even Unach. I stay tucked away.
Unach waves them off. “I’ll meet you there. Just cleaning up.” They exchange a few more words before leaving. She pulls off her harness and chucks it in the chest. Looks at Troff. “Kub’s late again.”
Troff shrugs. “Noon shift.”
She turns toward me, her gaze narrowing. “Go to the market. We passed the road for it on the way down. It’s below the trade works.”
I hesitate. “Where . . . was the trade works?”
She frowns. “Outside the farm walls.” Groans. “How good is your memory? I don’t want to write this down.”
“It’s good—”
“Go to the market,” she barrels on. “It’s on the eighth level, down the way you came yesterday but through the west tunnel. Go to the food handlers and request rations for . . . What’s your birth year?”
I blink. “945 . . .”
“Lark 945.” She adjusts a leather bracer on her arm. A long strip is cut out of it for the bony nubs that protrude from her verdant skin. “While you’re down there, get mine and Azmar’s, too.”
I nod, wanting any excuse to appease Unach.
She responds, “Unach 935 and Azmar 937.”
It sounds like trolls use birth years instead of surnames. Which also means Unach is twenty-nine and Azmar is twenty-seven.
I light up. “You’re Iter.”
Unach hesitates. “What did you call me?” Her voice rings sharp as a saw blade.
“I-I.” I force myself not to shy back. “Your birth year. It aligns with the planet Iter, the spider.”
She gawks at me like I’m speaking another language.
Steadying myself, I say, “The planets in the cosmos, I mean. Among the stars. You and I are the same. Iter, the fifth planet. It . . . It represents strength and cunning.”
Unach looks me up and down and snorts, as though finding the comparison laughable. I suppose it is. But there are different sorts of strength. A different strength for every person, if they know where to find it. The Cosmodians believe that the gods speak to us through the stars, and following the path of a birth planet helps us interpret their words. I don’t share this, though.
“Azmar is Ura,” I offer. The seventh planet, which can be seen only through a powerful spyglass.
“Unach!” the chatty female calls.
“Kesta!” Unach calls back in a mocking voice. Refocusing on me, she sighs. “You’ll have to ask for a tradesman package as well. You’ll get some pushback, I’m sure, but just say the council approved it, and the council will be very angry if they don’t accommodate you. If they don’t believe you, use my name.”
I wonder what sort of weight the name Unach 935 carries.